Uncle Sarge

by Bonnie Gardner

  Beverly started to say something, but snapped her mouth shut before she could. She seemed to sputter and splutter, trying to formulate words. “Yes, Duke was an adrenaline junkie, but they aren’t all like that. Maybe some of the guys start out that way, but once they’ve been through it for real a couple of times, the thrill is gone.”

  Nick had come in from the backyard grill and stood in the kitchen doorway. He said nothing, but it was obvious that he was interested in the conversation.

  “Well,” Jennifer said, feeling like anything she said in her defense would be lame. Still, she wasn’t willing to let it go. “How do I know Rich isn’t just like Duke?”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, Nick let out a long, gusty sigh. He shook his head. “It sure must feel good to be able to categorize all men just by their occupations. I guess, if I believe your theory, then all used-car salesmen are crooks, and all doctors are good providers. And we won’t even get into what we think about politicians or detectives—computer or otherwise.”

  Jennifer winced. “Touché.” She had a strong feeling she was going to lose this argument, but she didn’t want to give up yet. “Yeah, Nick, I know I can’t judge every book by its cover, but I haven’t had the happiest experience with military men.”

  Beverly stopped her. “Man. Singular. Just one. Don’t judge the rest by Duke’s sorry self. I’ve gotten to know the guys on the team here, and from my observation, most of them do not fit into the same category as your ex. I’ve made a point of inviting them over and giving them a taste of the real world from time to time, and most of them are good, honest men who want to serve their country.

  “Sure, some of them start out doing it for the kicks, but most of them want to make a genuine contribution to world peace.” Beverly paused.

  “Did you ever notice how young most of them are?” Nick interjected.

  Jennifer sat back. No, she hadn’t. But now that she thought about it, she didn’t remember meeting many who were in their thirties. She floundered for a rebuttal, but she couldn’t find one.

  Nick went on. “Being a combat control operator is a young man’s game. It’s hard work. It’s physically hard on the men and just as mentally draining. Sure, they let loose now and then, but it’s only a release. I know it’s hard on their wives, and it’s hard on families. It takes a special type of man to do the job, and it takes a special woman to love him.”

  Jennifer wanted to say something, to argue, but she couldn’t come up with anything that made sense.

  “Don’t blame your problems with Duke on the job, and don’t indict us all because of one man.” Nick pushed away from the doorjamb. “I’ve got to get back to the grill.”

  Was he telling her it was her fault that she hadn’t been able to make Duke act like a married man who loved her? Jennifer sat back against the couch and drew in a deep breath. She hoped not, but it was something to think about.

  “Okay,” Beverly said, “I can see those cogs turning in your head. Before you go putting all the blame on yourself, remember this—Duke was a jerk. He wanted to have his cake and eat it, too. Duke wasn’t one of the guys we’ve been defending. You did everything you could to make it work.

  “I’m sure Duke loved you when he married you. Or thought he did. But he didn’t know how to be married. He wanted to have a wife and all the perks that came with, but he didn’t know how—or want—to make it fifty-fifty.” Beverly took Jennifer by the upper arms and pulled her around to look squarely in her eyes.

  “Listen to me, Jennifer.”

  Jennifer blinked, then nodded.

  “Duke was a jerk. He made none of the compromises necessary to make a marriage work. You tried—he didn’t. So, don’t blame yourself, and do not blame an entire group of men for Duke’s failure. It wasn’t their fault.” Beverly shook her. “Do you get what I’m saying?”

  Jennifer nodded. “I think so.” She forced a weak smile. “Thank you, but I still can’t help wondering if I could have made it work if I’d just been a better wife.”

  “You couldn’t have been a better wife if you’d taken lessons, Jen. The problem was his, not yours.” Beverly sighed and leaned back against the sofa cushion. She placed her hand over her huge stomach and drew a deep breath. “I think it’s time to change the subject. This little guy tells me when I need to calm down.” She smiled. “You think about it and come to your own conclusions.

  “Now.” Beverly rubbed her hands together. “Let’s see what’s in the pretty package.”

  WITH THE APARTMENT appropriately stocked with supplies, Rich had a relatively easy two days with the kids. He’d kept them fed and happy and had even managed a couple of short excursions to a park a few blocks from his apartment.

  This Uncle Rich stuff was a piece of cake, he told himself. And better yet, with Beverly Wilson’s help, he’d gone back to his regular routine. Of course, he’d only survived one day of work, he reminded himself. He still had Wednesday, Thursday and Friday to get through.

  Still, he couldn’t help thinking he’d managed it all. He could do this stuff. Feeling pleased with himself and looking forward to the next day, Rich drifted to sleep.

  It seemed he had been sleeping only a few minutes when something roused him. He pushed himself up and rubbed his eyes while he waited for a repeat of the sound. The walls were thin in the apartment complex, and he was used to the many noises that disturbed sleep. This was different. This was one he hadn’t heard before and couldn’t identify.

  Rich listened again, but it had gone. He hoped. He’d have a hard enough time getting back to sleep without having to worry about unidentified night noises, and he had the kids in the next room to think about.

  He would have thought a guy who could sleep most anywhere would be able to in his own apartment, but Rich had a hard time settling down in Ski’s bed. Maybe it was the calendar girl posters on the wall, or the streetlight sneaking in through a missing slat in the blinds, or maybe it was just knowing that somebody in the next room depended on him that had him on edge.

  How Ski could sleep with those women staring down at him, he didn’t know. Rich rolled over and tried to shut his eyes, but a finger of light from outside seemed to point directly toward the poster above him.

  He didn’t know why, but that particular model reminded him too much of Jennifer. She didn’t really look that much like her, but something about her made him think of the prim woman who was far sexier clothed than that pinup.

  This woman had long mahogany-colored hair and legs that went on for miles, just like Jennifer. He could only guess at this, but that body had to be just like the one Jennifer tried so hard to hide.

  Comparing the model to Jennifer Bishop was probably not the smartest move he’d ever made. Not if he was going to get any sleep tonight. He pulled the pillow over his head to block out the image and the light.

  The pillow did nothing at all to block out thoughts of Jennifer. Now that Rich had seen that near-nude poster girl, he had no trouble imagining what it would be like to unwrap Jennifer layer by layer like a warm, sexy Christmas present.

  Rich groaned and threw the pillow across the room. This wasn’t working.

  He got up. He could do something about the posters, even if he couldn’t do anything about Jennifer Bishop. At least, not tonight.

  He tried to take each picture down without tearing it so he could put it back up when Ski regained possession, but his fingers weren’t used to that kind of delicate operation. After several attempts to be careful, frustration, both sexual and physical, made Rich impatient. He gave up all pretense and ripped the pinups off the wall. He’d gladly buy Ski a new set later.

  Rich wadded the posters up and jammed them into the trash can. He yawned. He had to get some Z’s.

  He sank back down to the bed and tried to block out the light sneaking through the broken venetian blinds. Even if the kids weren’t in the next room, he had to get up at the crack of dawn for PT.

  He’d begun to debate whether the penaltie
s for shooting out a streetlight were worth a good night’s sleep when he heard it again. He held his breath and didn’t move for fear that the rustle of sheets or the creak of the mattress might cover the sound.

  Just when he thought he’d imagined it, the noise, nothing more than a soft whimper, returned. This time it was louder, more distinct.

  This time he realized what it was.

  Carter.

  Rich threw off the covers and leapt to his feet. All thoughts of sleep forgotten, he yanked open the door and hurried into the other room. What could be wrong? Carter had slept the last few nights, so Rich had assumed he would again. Weren’t babies supposed to sleep all night by the time they were Carter’s age?

  By the glow of the nightlight, Rich could see Carter. He had pushed himself into a sitting position, and his face was contorted with…pain? His little fist was balled up tight, and he alternately sucked on it and wailed.

  Caitlyn appeared to be sound asleep in the big bed, oblivious to Carter’s apparent distress. This time Rich wouldn’t have minded some of Caitlyn’s big sister experience and expertise. But Caitlyn wasn’t the problem.

  As soon as Rich had entered the room, Carter zeroed in on Rich like a homing device. He reached out with chubby arms and whimpered louder.

  Not knowing what else to do, Rich picked him up.

  A quick check showed that Carter’s diaper wasn’t wet, but he obviously needed something. He kept putting his fist into his mouth, and his face and the top of his pajamas were soaked. From what, Rich didn’t know.

  Rich felt the baby’s head, but didn’t know what he was looking for. He just remembered his own mother doing it to him when he was a kid. Carter’s forehead felt cool, so Rich guessed he wasn’t sick.

  Maybe he was just hungry.

  At least, once they were out of the bedroom, he could turn on a light. Carter’s face was red from crying and the moisture appeared to be drool. Rich wondered briefly if there was some sort of foaming-at-the-mouth disease that babies got that he should know about. He dismissed the idea. Carter wasn’t a dog, and he didn’t have rabies.

  Rich hoped.

  He warmed a bottle of formula. Rich would have liked to put the baby back in bed as he’d done before, but something told him that Carter needed to be held. Truth be told, Rich needed to hold Carter. There was something very comforting about holding a little person in his arms.

  Maybe, once Carter settled back down, Rich could get back to sleep, too.

  Carter sucked greedily on the bottle and emptied it in no time, then rewarded Rich with a resounding burp. Carter snuggled close, and Rich was loathe to put him down. But he did have to get to sleep.

  He glanced at the clock on the VCR. It read 2:00 a.m. He had to be at PT in four hours.

  “Okay, kiddo. Midnight snack’s over. Time to hit the sack.” Rich pushed himself up off the couch and headed for the kids’ room. If his luck held, he’d have Carter changed and tucked in and be back in bed in a few minutes.

  He should have known, he thought as he tossed the diaper into the can and tried to tiptoe out. Carter resumed whimpering as soon as Rich’s back was turned. Rich stumbled back in desperation. The last thing he needed was for Caitlyn to wake up, too. Carter should be fine now and settled deep into dreamland. After all, his diaper was dry, his stomach was full. What else could he possibly need?

  The baby had already pushed himself into a sitting position and held his arms out to be picked up.

  Rich had a fleeting urge to call Beverly Wilson, but he couldn’t do that. Beverly was sleeping for two, and she’d be there soon enough in the morning. No sense depriving anybody else of sleep.

  Bouncing Carter gently, Rich walked the floor. Carter had been quiet enough while he’d been taking his bottle, but now he just whined and whimpered and chewed on his fist. He was no closer to knowing just what was wrong than before.

  The hours seemed to drag on. Rich walked, he paced, he bounced the baby on his knee. But every time he put Carter down, he cried again.

  Finally, exhausted from walking and jiggling—hell, he’d even tried humming—Rich sat down on the couch. He didn’t know any lullabies, but he managed a ballad or two. Finally, Carter fell asleep in his arms. Too exhausted to get up, and afraid that any movement would wake him, Rich stayed where he was.

  He’d slept sitting up before. If he could do it in the noisy bay of a loaded C-130 transport, he could do it in his own living room. He glanced over Carter’s fuzzy head to the clock on the VCR. It was 4:00 a.m. If he stayed where he was he could get one good hour of sleep before he had to get up.

  THE DOORBELL WOKE HIM.

  Briefly disoriented, Rich pushed at the dead weight on his chest. The weight, he discovered, was Carter, who was, fortunately, still asleep. The light coming in through the slitted blinds was bright, and the clock said 6:00 a.m.

  The doorbell rang again.

  It was Beverly coming to his rescue. He hoped.

  As he maneuvered himself and Carter up off the couch, he realized he had to be at PT in thirty minutes.

  Balancing Carter on his shoulder, Rich yanked open the door without even looking to see who it was.

  “Rough night?” Beverly stepped inside and dropped a totebag beside the door and took Carter.

  “That’s an understatement,” Rich said, yawning. “I don’t know what’s wrong. He woke up crying after midnight. He wasn’t wet, so I gave him a bottle, but that didn’t help. He doesn’t have a fever, I don’t think, but he’s drooling like a rabid dog, and he keeps putting his fist in his mouth.”

  “Well,” Beverly said, settling onto the couch. “I’m no expert, but I’d say Carter is teething. Babies can get quite uncomfortable and fretful, and it’s worse at night.”

  “Like a pain you can live with in the daytime bothers you at night, right?” Rich yawned again. He longed for a shower, but he didn’t have time. And he’d just have to do it again after the workout, anyway. “I hate to run off when you just got here, but I do have to make it to PT.”

  Beverly dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “Don’t worry about us. That’s why I’m here.”

  Rich headed for his room to dress.

  “Rich?”

  He stopped and turned back. “Yeah?”

  “Try splashing some cold water on your face.”

  Nodding, Rich hurried on. Like anything as simple as cold water would compensate for being up half the night.

  JENNIFER HAD TRIED to keep from thinking about Rich and the kids all weekend, but now that Beverly was on duty, she couldn’t stand not knowing. She had to see firsthand.

  Rationalizing that Rich wouldn’t interrupt his day to see the kids at lunch, Jennifer thought she just might drop by and see for herself how Beverly was getting along.

  She had called Bev to make sure the coast was clear and had received an odd request. Beverly wanted her to stop at a store to pick up a couple of gel-filled teething rings and some numbing ointment to rub on the baby’s gums.

  Beverly didn’t say why, but Jennifer guessed that Carter was cutting a tooth.

  While she was running errands, Jennifer picked up a couple of premade lunch salads. Then, looking forward to a nice visit, Jennifer drove to Rich’s apartment.

  Beverly must have been watching for her, because she yanked the door open before Jennifer could ring the bell.

  “Boy, am I glad to see you.” Beverly shut the door and stood just inside wringing her hands. She must have spilled something, for the front of her maternity slacks was wet.

  Caitlyn was sitting on the floor, raptly watching cartoons on television. She barely turned to acknowledge that anyone else had come into the room. Jennifer didn’t see Carter.

  “Have you discovered that taking care of two little kids isn’t as easy as you thought?” Jennifer carried her purchases to the dinette table and put them down.

  Beverly didn’t follow, but bent over almost double and clutched at her stomach. Jennifer gasped as Bev’s face contorted wit
h what she could only describe as pain.

  “What’s wrong?” Alarm flashed through her.

  Beverly gasped like a fish out of water, or maybe panted like a dog would be a more apt description. “Nothing’s wrong, exactly,” she said once the spasm had passed. “However, my water broke right after I spoke to you, and my contractions are about eight minutes apart.”

  Chapter Nine

  Jennifer gasped. “But the baby isn’t due for almost a month,” she protested.

  “Well, apparently Junior, here, didn’t read the memo.” Clutching the small of her back with one hand, Beverly stooped to pick up a tote she’d left by the door. “I called the doctor and Nick. He’s on the way to take me. We couldn’t reach Rich. He’s out surveying a drop zone or something. You’re going to have to hold the fort.”

  “Sure, Bev. Anything. You just go and have that baby.” Jennifer tried to be sound reassuring, but her first instinct was to be alarmed. Beverly’s baby wasn’t due until the end of the month. It was too soon.

  “I’ll be fine, Jen.” Beverly looked far calmer than Jennifer felt. “I’ve spoken to the doctor, and she said not to worry. The baby’s nearly full term and plenty big enough, and it’ll probably be hours before he makes it into the world.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “No, I’m not sure, but I’m going to take the doctor’s word for it.” Beverly didn’t seem to be taking this sudden turn of events as well as it had first appeared.

  The doorbell rang.

  A relieved expression flitted across Beverly’s face, and Jennifer hurried to let Nick in.

  He looked calm, concerned and excited all at the same time as he strode inside. “I left the motor running,” Nick said, nodding at Jennifer, but going straight to his wife. “Can you walk?”

  Beverly rolled her eyes. “I think I can manage. After all, in the old days women gave birth in the fields and went back to picking cotton as soon as they were done.” She smiled; although, to Jennifer’s mind, it seemed forced. “Now, do you think we could get going before I have another contraction?”